Indigena 2.0

Spoiler

REBOOT!!!! This was one of my favorite SBs ever and since @barefootrunner has signed off I decided to take over. New and old writers aloud. Also you do not need to use the same charries, I for once am not (Thank god).


@Elinor Brynn
@AlfonsoFernandez
@barefootrunner
@Liv
@fictionfanatic
@HighTop
@Demora
@Basil
@Pan
@Iggy
@Shiney

You and a group of other kids in your school have been on a tour in Africa. On the return flight, your light aircraft crashes into a desert island somewhere in the North Atlantic. At least, you think it's the North Atlantic.

The pilot is dead. Supervising staff are dead. There is no cellular reception. It's just you and some other kids on a big island. What is your survival tactic? Join a group or strike out alone? Are you a great leader or an obedient follower? Hunt and scavenge, make fire, find shelter and above all, survive. The options are endless.

The Island

Spoiler

The island consists of different terrains.
Beach: The beach consists of sandy and rocky areas, some craggy cliffs, palm trees and a bit of mangrove forest. Kelp and gulls colonise the shores. The coast is long enough that it is not immediately evident that you have been stranded on an island.

Jungle: The beach soon becomes a thick mat of lianas, trees and undergrowth. Here, fresh water may be found as well as forest game. Spiders and poisonous insects abound.

Mountain: The jungle slopes to a ridged peak in the centre of the island. Brittle volcanic rock, geothermic pools and sparse vegetation characterise the higher slopes. This dangerous terrain is also rewarding as it affords a complete view of the island.

The characters

Spoiler

You are a school kid between the ages of about 10 and 19 (for the loafers who've failed a grade or two). These restrictions are flexible, but no adults, please! You have a very well-defined character. Think of your survival strategy in line with this character! Start figuring if you will become a hunter, build tools, be an outcast, try to raft to safety or go crazy. Of course, during this SB your character's behavior may change, or even exhibit some disturbing psychological anomalies. Just remember to keep it real. Find your template below!

Template

Code: Select all

[spoiler][b]Name:[/b]

[b]Age:[/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b]

[b]History/Points of Interest:[/b]

[b]Basic Personality:[/b]

[b]Rate out of ten for ???[/b]
[i]Leadership:[/i]
[i]Adaptability:[/i]
[i]Bravery:[/i]
[i]Physical Fitness:[/i]
[i]Nastiness:[/i]
[i]Group affinity:[/i]

[b]Other:[/b]
[/spoiler]

Quick Rules
1.) Swearing is allowed.
2.) Romance is allowed, as is any sexual orientation.
3.) Sex is allowed, but only implied sex. No descriptions.
4.) No magic, godmod or any other such evil beasties.
5.) No killing off characters without permission.
6.) Please do not join if you have no intention of going through with this and PM me if you have to leave.

P.J. Mayburn

The smell of burning flesh and dust filled my nose. I found my self stumbling out a broken window and onto the beach. My eyes watered through the pain but I knew better than to stay near a burning plane. The other kids sat near the edge of the jungle sorting through bags and scavenging for anything useful. I couldn't see any teachers so I suppose that they were all dead.

"Help!" A small scream came from inside the plane.

I knew I was the only person who heard the voice so I rushed to the sound. I dug through the lames and rubble my lungs slowly filling with smoke. Better me than her I guess.I kept searching till I found a tiny girl balled up and passed out stuck under a fallen piece of the ceiling. I heaved it off of her small body and swept her up into my arms. I held her close as I dashed out of the plane ignoring a searing pain in my leg. I kept running away from the plane until I reached to rest of the group.

I slowly sat down placing the girl on a blanket next to me. I instantly started searching her to check if she was breathing, she wasn't. I moved her long hair out of her face and started preforming CPR. After a couple pumps, she sputtered back to life. I smiled in relief and started scanning her body for breaks and gashes. She seemed completely fine besides bruising along her hips and stomach.

"Thank you." She said in a small voice with a small trace of an ascent.

I smiled in return and then turned to my ever reminding pain in my leg. A burn. Thank god for sports medicine classes is all I can say. I grabbed a water canister and poured it over the burn that stretched from the bottom of my kneecap all the way down to my ankles. I gritted my teeth through the pain and took off my shirt. I wrapped it around the burn to keep it from infection.

"You're P.J. right?" The girl asked again. I nodded. "I think my brother played on the soccer team with you, you're the goalie right?"

My gloves. I instantly reached to my back pocket to feel the soft feel of my worn gloves in my hands. I slipped them on and felt at home immediately. I knew the girl was looking at me funny but I didn't care, I needed this. I looked over to the group of people and recognized a couple people right off the bat.

"P.J.?" Chris yelled from the group.

We had played soccer together since we were little so he's probably the only person here I would actually maybe called my friend.

"What up P-Sizzle! I saw you save Rian, that was actually pretty cool." He said crouching down next to me.

So that's her name. He kept blabbering on as he does but I was too distracted by the plane to pay any attention. It was gonna blow. Right as the though flew my brain, it did. I jumped on top of Chris and Rian shielding them from the blow. Hot air rushed u[ my bare back and my toes curled int the burning sand. The it was over.

I woke up in the jungle.

My eyes focused, and I bolted upright. My head felt lightweight, and I felt worse than when that linebacker tackled me to the ground in the quarterfinal game last year. He'd sacked my ass, and broken five of my ribs. But now, my whole body ached like it had been hit by a truck. I moaned and stood, jogging dizzily to where I heard some kind of high pitched whistling sound. I tried to ignore the terrible pain in my side.

I stumbled through a thicket of bamboo, sticks and branches snapping against my arms and legs. Suddenly, I broke past the tree line and onto the beach, where I saw some guy doing CPR on my sister. My heart jumped into my mouth.

Damn. Rian. I totally forgot.

The plane crash.

It all registered.

I gulped down the lump in my throat, my stomach feeling heavy as if there was a boulder inside. It took all of me to swallow that, too, to dismiss all feelings of both surprise and terror. There was blood everywhere, covering bodies and wreckage. I shoved down my emotions, and soon fell into a dreamlike state. My entire body became numb and senseless, and I guess my mind was, too.

None of this was real.

I still wasn't thinking straight, and for some reason, my nervous mind made me act normal. I went over to where the guy had revived Rian by now. Relief filled my chest as I saw her sputter to life. I recognized the rescuer; our long-time soccer goalie, Mayburn. Saved so many close games, that guy. I think I thanked him, or something, before I started recounting last year's semifinal game. It just kind of poured out of my stupid mouth. He was tuning me out, naturally, Rian looking as relieved as I was that we were both alive.

Suddenly, I heard something explode behind me. P.J. dove across Rian and me like a goalie would over a ball.

I coughed into my elbow, the dust scratching at my lungs, and gave P.J. a clap on the back. I knew he wouldn't be able to hear me thank him over the screaming, the crying. There was somebody, a guy, yelling about needing bandages. I guess he wasn't used to his own voice, because he looked like he was drowning in it. Everywhere I looked, something was burning. I couldn't hear myself think; the plane sizzled like sausage did on a pan, the heat making my eyes water. But then again, I didn't think much.

"Get back!" I growled at P.J. and Ree. P.J. just stood there wearing those gloves, that idiot. Rian's face blushed a beet red, looking rather small. "Yo Peej, something happens to her, and I'm coming after you," I warned, knowing he'd stick with her. If there was one person I could count on, it was that guy. With that I ran away, towards the bandage guy.

"Hey!" He exclaimed. "I need some bandages!" He looked pretty out of it, but it looked like he'd hit his head, judging from the bruise that ran lengthwise across his temple. Next to him, there was a biracial girl laying sprawled across the sand, blood pouring from the spot between her neck and her shoulder, whatever that was.

"Take off your shirt," I told him, bending down on my knees. Hell, I was the furthest thing from a doctor. I stared at the piece of shrapnel sticking out from her shoulder. The guy stared at her for a second. "C'mon, get your head in the game, Bolton." The look of confusion in his face told me that he didn't recognize the reference. "Take off your shirt, or I'll take it off for you." It came out surprisingly calm, and he looked slightly taken aback as he ripped off his shirt. Luckily, the piece of metal was pretty small. I pulled it out and stuck his shirt over the wound.

"You got a head injury?" I asked him, looking up.

His eyes widened. "Do you?"

I only stood in response to his smart remark, yanking his hand down onto the shirt to hold it in place. His face calmed slightly, taking my position on the ground. "I'm Andi," he told me softly.

I didn't much see the sense in exchanging names, or maybe I just forgot. "Doubt I'll remember," I stated, and then punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Just don't drop the ball, Luck. Press down hard on that. That's right. Good man." I gave him one last pat on the back, and jogged away.

I saw the plane, all in shambles, all on fire. The fuselage was smoking, the sky was black. Where even is the cockpit? I guess I was terrified. But I pushed it deep down, and put my hands on my hips. When took my hand away, blood covered my hand like red paint. And God dammit, it had soaked through my jacket. I wondered if it would wash out. I peeled back my football jacket and my white t-shirt, revealing a deep gash that ran up my side. I hoped nobody would notice, or try to stitch me up. Goddamn, I hoped nobody tried to stitch me up. I wish I could say I was afraid of nothing, but I couldn't stand needles.

I hoped that the blood would wash out. Walking through school with a bloodstain on my football jacket wouldn't exactly put me on the path to stardom. And I'd be damned if Coach didn't sit me for a few games just to make sure I didn't bleed through my uniform.

Jesus Christ, Mahoney, you are an idiot.

I surveyed my surroundings, trying to find anyone who needed help. But it looked like we'd just entered the post-plane crash stage, not that I'd know what that looked like. I saw the bodies on the ground, both dead and alive, coughing, unconscious, or rotting. Blood. Fire. Smoke. It was dark. I wasn't sure if it was nighttime, or just the smoke and debris, filling the air. People were wandering aimlessly, and it looked like a few alliances had formed already.

Subconsciously, I decided that I'd wait a few minutes until I tried to round everyone up to do a head count. In the back of my mind, I wondered when this would all be over. When I would stop doing all of the things I was supposed to do in the dream. But instead, the thought stayed in the back of my mind, while the front was occupied with the things I knew were real, like football. Girls. Basketball. Trying to keep myself from believing what, deep down, I knew was the truth.

Just then, I saw a girl sprinting towards me, seeming to be in hysterics. Awesome, I thought. Let me just solve everyone's problems. That's me, Come to the Rescue Chris. I played around with the possibilities of that nickname for a while.

Medic Mahoney. Hell no.

Keeping It Cool Chris. Hm.

I decided it would have to be a little less neutral, like:

Cry On Your Own Time Chris. Eh.

Man Up Mahoney. Now we're talking.

I guess I'd been zoning, because I missed everything she said. I put on a sheepish, lopsided grin and rubbed the back of my neck. So much for being Mr. Tough Guy. "What, now?"

I guess my actions hardly fit the situation, because frankly, she seemed appalled. I didn't blame her.

Spoiler

The girl could be anyone. If you guys want me to change anything, just say so.

Harold

All he was aware of was the putrid stench of burning flesh.

The image of people screaming in agony was burned behind his eyelids yet he could not hear them. Lying on the scorched earth, all he could hear was an ominous rushing sound blocking out everything else. Bodies lay here and there, some struggling, others unmoving, and people running through the wreckage, pulling out men and women. He watched as one pulled out a small girl and carried her to safety.

Then his hearing returned. As if emerging from the deep, the cacophony around him became louder and louder as he rose. Once he got to his feet, he took in the full extent of the wreckage.

The plane had broken into thirds, leaving wiring and scraps of metal sticking out at all in directions. The nose of the plane was smashed and barely recognizable under the bole of a massive tree and the middle of the plane lay in a massive gash in the ground. Live wires and blazing underbrush surrounded the entire wreckage and, most ominously, a wing stood above the fire, the heat making the image waver.

He shambled over to a group of survivors cowering under singed blankets, blankly staring past them towards a point in the distance. Some tried to comfort him, giving him hesitant pats on the back but he didn't notice.

This is a dream. People have dreams like this right? Extreme stress? We just finished finals right? Right?

He stood in the middle of the crowd. One man, slightly older than him, draped a blanket over his shoulders.

I'm gonna wake up now. Dad was going to give me his car. I'm going to wake up and I'm going to go outside and I'm going to drive myself down to a park, a court, a movie.

He blinked a couple times, as if trying to convince himself that this was indeed a dream.

It wasn't.

Harold looked back at the wreckage. That's when the tears came. At first tears slid down his cheeks as he stood. Then he doubled over with sobs. He could taste the salt that sorrow bought. Harold fell to his knees and let his head sink into the mud and cried until he thought his chest would burst. Then he just heaved, there on the damp ground. He fell over sideways and lay there.

The fire burned, the people, the plane lay their like the skeleton of a great beast, and he lay next to it. Lay with it.

I'm burning.

That's all I can think. My right sleeve is blistering, flames scorching my fingers. I'm ripping at my shirt frantically now. But the fire only grows. With my other hand, I grope around for something to hold onto... the mud! I shove my sleeve into the dirty water and, finally, the flames start to flicker, then die.

I lie on my back, panting. It's only then that I register my location. I'm lying on my stomach, trapped under... the plane. I remember the events of the last day and a half. The crash. The screaming. The people falling out of the plane and into the sea. Then the panic hits me, a wave of terror that is completely debilitating.

I finally calm myself down enough to realize that I can crawl out from underneath the plane, and--slowly--I scrabble towards the light and collapse onto the open beach. What I see there doesn't help.

Many of my peers are splayed across the ground, unmoving. Some of the mobile try to drag themselves and their friends out of the water. I should help the others.

I close my eyes, letting the situation wash over me. Three deep breaths, like Mom always said. My peers, although many of them are kind to me, would most likely not make me their first priority. I will need to protect myself until they stop panicking and gather themselves. First step: move out of the water.

I push myself off the sand cautiously. A wave of dizziness comes, which does nothing to help my anxiety. I open my eyes fully and block out the screaming behind me. One foot in front of the other.

Before I know it, I'm at my destination: a small rock ledge surrounded by weeds which, I'm right, leads to a dip in the ground. It should shelter me from the others. Before I can can pass out, I kneel and pull the brambles over my hiding spot.

Blackness comes.

Spoiler

I know this was a bit garbled, but here's a summary: Quentin has severe social and general anxiety. In such a hectic situation, his logic is warped. This leads to many bad ideas. He eventually decides to hide from the others because he knows that they don't empathize with him and--to be honest--he's scared that they'll reject/leave him to die because of this.

I looked through the bags with a couple other of the kids searching for anything useful, mainly my guitar. We had started sorting into piles, Drinks, food, clothing, shoes, medicine, ect. ect.. It was killing me. At the bottom of the pile there it was, my baby, my love, Rocket, my guitar. I yanked it out with a smile and zipped open the black bag that contained Rocket. Empty. In anger I searched or anyone to complain to. I spotted one of the jocks just standing around in an annoyingly tall manor. I stormed over to him desperate for his help.

"Hey, hello, Hi! Have you seen a bright red guitar anywhere, it's honestly the only thing I care about right now. I know it's petty and dumb, but PLEASE. It's the only real thing right now, you know what I mean. Okay whatever can You please help me?"

"What, now?" He asked obviously not listening to a word I had just said.

"Wow okay, just because you think you're a hot shot doesn't mean that you cant help someone besides your ego." I said turning away.

"Wait," He said grabbing my arm, "I'm sorry, what did you need help with?"

"I can't find my guitar and I really need it. It's the only thing of home I have right now." I said trying not to tear up to make the situation even more pitiful.

"I'll help you look don't even worry about it, we'll find it." He said giving me a sparkling smile.

I couldn't help but to smile back as his hand went on the small of back and led me towards the pile of junk. We searched together until a brown haired boy I recognized as Andi came over worried about something and he and my new found friend chatted for a while till he turned back to me and said.

"Hey I gotta go, I'm Chris by the way." He said charming me with a smile.

"Robin, or Scout, I prefer Scout I don't why I said Robin." Blabbering again, I have to stop.

"Got it, I'll keep my eyes out for your guitar. Seeya beautiful." He winked and stumbled off.

Oh god, boys always get me.

Spoiler

Plane crashes and my girl can only thing of boys. Who's to blame a girl

The girl had somewhat angular features that outlined her face, and her red lips were wet with tears, trembling as she spoke. Her eyes started to fill with tears; gradually, like a watering can fills with hose water. She had a good body; a great body, actually, slender but voluptuous, her jeans making tight turns around her legs and hips. Mascara came off on her cheeks whenever she batted her eyelashes, and she kept running her hand through her long ebony hair. Her fingers kept getting tangled up, and she seemed rather distressed.

I straightened up, my eyes widening, my heart starting to race. Damn, she's hot.

She was frustrated with me for some reason. She looked helpless, her eyes one second from spilling over. She started to turn away from me, and I gently took her arm. "I'm sorry," I said, not too sorry, but genuinely wanting to help her. I guess I felt like I needed to. "What did you need help with?"

She started rambling on about a guitar. I hardly thought a guitar was important at the moment, as my eyes wandered from her face to the rubble in the background, the bodies that people had begun to drag into a pile next to the fuselage. Then they wandered to the waves, crashing malevolently upon the shore, sea foam eating away at the sand. Then to the horizon, where the ocean seemed to stretch on until it became one with the sky.

My stomach started to ache, whether from the gash up my side or something else. My muscles tightened, and I felt tears start to form behind my eyes. God, this is actually happening. I bit my lip, hard. Get it together, Chris. Shut up. If you cry, than you'll destroy any hope this girl has.

So I got it together. I swallowed the lump in my throat, gave her a charming smile or two, and I went through the motions. She bought all of it.

We were standing next to the heap of luggage that a group of survivors had started to bring over, when the guy from earlier came running up to me. Numbly, I walked up to meet him, wondering what the hell was up now.

"Yo, Allen," I greeted.

"Andi," he corrected. Andi, right. I saw he'd found a new shirt; a torn blue button-up. His eyes looked clearer than they had been, and I saw that he'd fixed his head wound with some kind of gauze. I hoped there was more where that came from; we were gonna need a lot of medical supplies to patch everyone up.

I was about to make a joke, but surprisingly, nothing I could say seemed very funny. "Right," I nodded. "What's up?"

Straight-faced, he said, "She's awake."

After some mind-searching, I remembered the girl from earlier. The one with the shrapnel in her neck. Andi continued softly. "She's looking pretty pale, and if we don't clean up the wound, than it might get infected. We haven't been able to find any alcohol or anything." He paused, kind of uncertainly, and then said, "I was wondering what you thought we should do. I mean...you're the one who saved her."

I shook my head. "Maybe, but I'm not the leader. We should consult the rest of the group, maybe get everybody together and do a head count." Andi nodded, presumably thinking the same thing. Andi told me that he'd go and make sure no one was wandering alone so that we could get this show on the road.

I hoped that it wouldn't be too long before the rescue plane showed up.

I briefly told the girl that I'd keep an eye out for her guitar, before making my way over to a makeshift fire that a few of the students had started. The sky had dimmed considerably to a charcoal color, the flames illuminating the faces of the survivors, a few of them encased in singed blankets. They were all huddled together, hardly speaking, eyes wide and terrified.

When I got over there, P.J. was talking to one of the other survivors, a girl. It looked like they were in some kind of heated argument.

"All I said was that we should ration them," P.J. was saying. "We don't know how much food we even have to survive on—"

"I brought them," the girl said sharply, yet quietly, her blue-eyed glare boring into P.J.'s face. "They're mine," she whispered. I noticed the two granola bars she had in her fist, clutched so tight they were probably crumbling. She sat with her knees bent considerably, her hands beneath them.

"We don't know when rescue is coming," P.J. argued, his voice seeming one hundred decibels louder than that of the girl. His face was dusty, his fists clenched, his reasonable tone dissipating quickly. "We could be stuck here for days, weeks on end." He walked closer to her, and she shied away, lowering her head like a puppy would, her stone cold glare sharpening with every step.

"Just give them to me," P.J. commanded.

"No," she said.

"Who even cares? Rescue's coming," someone else interjected.

"It's all a dream," another girl added, her hair matted and disheveled. "Just give him the fucking granola bars and he'll leave you alone," she spat.

P.J. held out his hand to the girl with the food. "Go to hell," she told him, as if that really needed to be said.

Something inside me burned up, like a fuse. I just couldn't take it.

"Just give me—"

"Get the hell away—"

"Shut up!" I shouted, silencing them. Everyone looked back at me. My fists clenched, my jaw tight and quivering. "Just let her have the damn granola bars, and shut up," I yelled. P.J. looked surprised, even timid. The blue-eyed girl loosened her grip on the granola bars. "There're a hundred dead bodies on the beach, and all you can do is sit there and argue about meaningless shit like that?" Everyone stared at me. One girl started to sob quietly.

"Look," I said, walking up next to the fire, turning around to face them. "We don't know where the cockpit is. It's not here on the beach. But if we can find it, than we could get the radio and transmit a signal, so we can be rescued." A few kids pulled their blankets tighter around them, a few shivering, bare-shouldered. "I'm going in tomorrow, at first light. If you don't want to come, than don't.

"If you stay on the beach, there are other things you can do. Look for medical supplies. Food. Clothing. Make yourself useful. As for the bodies...well, we can burn them in the fuselage tomorrow night. Maybe the rescue plane will see the fire." I looked down, speaking more softly. Almost everyone tipped their heads downward.

"Shouldn't they get a proper funeral?" Rian whispered.

I rubbed the back of my neck. Yeah, Chris, shouldn't they? Shouldn't they get a proper funeral, Chris?

"I wish they could," I said under my breath. We were all silent for a moment. I looked at Andi, nodding. He started to fill everybody in on the conditions of the injured, asking if anyone took medical classes. I was hardly listening. My face was burning, and my chest felt heavy.

I walked away from the group, stumbling out of reach of the fire, my whole body turning cold. I ambled into the jungle, jogging until I reached a small clearing about thirty yards from the beach. I stopped, the silence overwhelming me. The rustle of the leaves and the crickets' chirping became eerie, the blackness only revealing silhouettes. I made sure no one was there.

And then my eyes blurred with tears, and I started to sob, silent sobs that hurt my stomach; I sobbed until my face was wet, and my jacket was wet, and I couldn't feel a thing.

Jeez, Mahoney, you're such a chick.

I wiped my eyes, and heard a sudden movement behind me. I turned around, hearing the snaps of small twigs as a face slowly revealed itself from behind a tree. It was a boy's face, dirty, even in the dark, blond hair disheveled. His blue eyes glinted in the darkness.

"My mom says you should take three deep breaths," he said softly.

He shrugged slowly, until his shoulders made it all the way up to his ears and back down again. He retreated, a shadow being cast across his face. I inhaled sharply, and exhaled, my breath quivering as it made its way out. "She says it makes you feel better," he continued, just above a whisper.

My ears were ringing. Dark smoke and flames from the plane licked the air. Someone screamed. I was too out of it to tell if it was me.

I could only get enough strength to open my eyes halfway to see a figure hovering over me. I wanted to tell them to leave me the hell alone but pain ripped through my body, silencing me. God, I could really use a smoke right now.

"Does anyone here have medical experience?" He yelled over the chaos.

Black spots began to cloud my vision and my eyelids sagged. My lips tugged up in a small smile as everything started to fade again. I was never one to be afraid of death. I welcomed it, flirted with it, and now it was here. I wanted it to take me.

But that stubborn son of a bitch didn't.

My consciousness flitted in and out, catching fragments of sentences.

"Keep pressure here."

"-need a thread-"

"-lots of blood-"

When I woke up again, I was groggy and pissed off. Someone was placing a damp cloth on my forehead. My favorite Aerosmith band tee had been ripped in half, exposing my plain black bra and an ugly sloppily stitched gash from the crook of my neck past my shoulder.

"Welcome back. I'm Peej." He gave his best attempt at a smile. Fatigue and stress had worn him down. "Almost lost you there."

"Fuck off."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, probably thinking he didn't hear me clearly. "You had a fairly large piece of shrapnel lodged near your collar bone. We took it out and stitched you up but you should keep an eye on the wound so it doesn't get infected. You also broke your arm which I tried to set using some sticks as a splint and I fashioned a sling out of some shirts. I think one or two of your ribs shattered but there's not much I can do about those. You'll just have to rest so the bones don't puncture your lungs. I had Andi stitch up any other significantly large lacerations he saw. You lost a lot of blood so you might feel lightheaded."

I waited for him to leave but he didn't. I knew he was waiting for me to thank him for saving me, to kiss his feet and maybe cry out of gratitude. Instead, I fished a cigarette from my jean pocket and my lighter, grimacing slightly as I did. I placed the cig between my teeth, fumbling with the lighter.

"You should've let me die." I grumbled. "If you had any common sense at all, you wouldn't be wasting your time trying to fix everyone up." The cigarette lit and there was something comforting about when the smoke filled my lungs. I exhaled slowly.

He watched me for a moment then ducked his head and walked away.

The nicotine buzz didn't do much to subside the pain. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek as I stood up and walked past the rubble to a fire some randoms were surrounding. I stayed near the edge, far enough away to tune out most of the conversations yet close enough to feel the warmth.

Peej

"Does anyone here have medical experience?" A boy yelled over the rush.

I instantly rushed over to the lump in the sand. A girl lay there with a piece of shrapnel in her shoulder and blood everywhere. She was fading, and fast. I jumped straight in ordering the poor kid who just happened to stumble into the situation.

"Just like turf in a cut." I kept mumbling to myself between orders.

I kept working on her until I was slightly positive I wasn't gonna be able to anything better than this for right now. I placed a cloth I had soaked in sea water on her forehead to slowly wake her. Her crazy hair splayed across the beach and I really just wanted to run my hands through it for some reason. She was just so peaceful.

"Welcome back. I'm Peej." I tried to smile but I was so distracted by all the other shit going on it was hard to even do that. "Almost lost you there."

"Fuck off." She hissed her soft features morphing into anger.

I pretended not to hear her and started saying stuff to make me sound smart before I lost her again. She wasn't buying it, not for one second. She looked at me exactingly, like she wanted something from me. I was just trying to help and here this bitch is trying to seem all high and mighty on her sandcastle throne.

"You should've let me die." She growled. "If you had any common sense at all, you wouldn't be wasting your time trying to fix everyone up."

She took a drag of her cigarette, blew it in my face, then smiled. Jesus fucking Christ I can't do anything nice around here. I stood up and started looking for more trouble.

I wandered over to the shit pile and started searching for my bag. It didn't have much inside, but it had bathroom stuff, clothing, shoes, and the rest of my soccer stuff. Bathroom stuff to stay somewhat clean and healthy, clothing because I' self conscious, shoes because duh, and soccer stuff because weapons? Cleats are somewhat sharp I suppose.

I sorted through my stuff when once again I was rudely interrupted.

"I could your help, big guy."

I wake to arguing. It takes a moment for my situation to sink in, but, strangely, I don't feel the crushing anxiety from before. I sit up silently. What should I do? Clearly, I'm in no position to trust my peers. Considering the recent events, they're experiencing the hormonal rush that I did.

I can't even hear myself over the arguing. Then there's a shout.

"Shut up!"

Silence. A quiet conversation... suddenly, I hear the brush being trampled to the right of my hideout. I scramble to my feet, trying to be as quiet as I can. Have they come to get me? What will they do? I hold my breath.

After a few moments, I hear something. But it doesn't sound like a blood-thirsty search party.

I tiptoe over to a thick tree, peeking out. In the center of a clearing, a tall boy in a thick leather sports jacket is sobbing. I try to remember his name... Mahoney, Christopher.

I should go--I should turn and run and never look back. But something draws me to him. Chris, that is. I unconsciously reach up to my face, feeling the layer of dirt and tears that coats my cheeks. And that's when I step forward, away from the tree and away from safety. He looks up, panicked, and I open my mouth. My heartbeat speeds up... the words seem stuck in my throat. Three breaths. Just like Mom told me. I slowly start to calm down, and, when I do, I realize that this impulse was foolish. What should I say?

"My-- my mom says you should take three deep breaths," I blurt out. I try to calm my breathing, stepping back. "She says-- she says it makes you feel better."

Spoiler

Darn. Sorry, this post doesn't really add anything to the plot, but I wrote it a while ago and just forgot to put it up here. The next one will have more, I promise!

Harold

Night was falling. Harold could almost imagine that he was on a camping trip, roasting marshmallows over the open fire. He picked up a stick from the ground and held it over the fire, chuckling, then crying.

That kid, Chris was it? He had talked to them, tried to apply organization to this situation. Fine, he could see the reason in that. It was like putting a mask on. He'd done that before.

Standing, he walked over to the smoldering wreckage. A couple others were there, trying to salvage something useful from the mess. He joined a group digging through scraps of metal and wires near what he guessed was the mid-section of the plane.

"Hey, how long you been here?"

"As long as you've been here, duh."

Harold snickered, it was funny even if it was an insult.

"Right. I'm just calculating our chances of actually finding something here."

Now it was the strangers turn to laugh.

"Your not finding anything here man. Were all here because there all outta blankets and the embers are still warm."

He was a cool kid huh? Charisma was key here. He'd worn this disguise before.

"Well. I guess we've all adjusted to our new situation right?

"Hell no."

"That makes two of us then."

"Naw, there's over a dozen people here."

"Fourteen of us? Dude, sounds like a party. What we got some smores by the fire, nice little barracks over here, the whole beach to ourselves."

The stranger had cracked up midway through the joke. He banged his hand on the scorched metal, laughing wholeheartedly.

"Man I like you. Were you from? I never seen you in school before."

"Eh, I tend to blend in. From Ireland though I moved to the U.S when I was young. Brother died in detainment. Dad got deported so..." Harold trailed off, shrugging his shoulders at the strangers wide eyes.

"Jeez man, you got me in tears. How do you manage this?"

Harold shrugged again.

"It just fades. Not entirely but little by little the pain eases. I guess you could say its like breaking up."

The stranger chuckled awkwardly.

"Must be a hell of a breakup."

"Yeah."

They sat there in silence for a while but it was ok. Silence was golden.

Chris

Humiliation settled over me, my chest aching. I met the gaze of the boy, and I inhaled slowly, my breath catching. God, Chris, you're a wimp. I looked away from him, wiping my eyes. He stumbled a little further into the brush. I could see him now; there was dirt spread across his cheeks, and his clear blue eyes were opened wide. He was terrified. He clung to his own shirt with his small hands, bunching up the fabric, as if he didn't know what to hold on to.

I wiped my hand across my mouth, glancing down towards the ground. My hand reached up into my hair, and hung there. I guess I was terrified, too.

"Damn, I'm scared," I whispered, mostly to myself. He stopped suddenly, unsure of approaching me. Suddenly, his shoulders seemed to relax, and he blinked, the darkness almost seeming to consume him.

"I'm scared too," he offered. And dammit, I did what he said, and took those Goddamn three deep breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

I opened my eyes, not having known they were closed.

He was gone.

--

I woke up early in the morning, a searing pain in my stomach. I rolled over, groaning, before propping myself up against the designer bag that I'd been using for a pillow. I guess I hadn't realized that that's what I dragged over last night. Real manly, quarterback.

I gathered my t-shirt with my fingers, and pulled it up just above my ribs, staring at the wound there. The gash was red around the edges, bleeding down my side. I wiped off the blood with my hand, and then wiped my hand on my shorts. I yanked my shirt back down, frowning at the crimson stain that had bled through the fabric, and hopped to my feet.

I looked around. The beach. The ocean. Mild disappointment swept over me. It wasn't a dream.

My eyes were groggy, and my abs and legs were sore as hell. I surveyed the camp; almost everyone was asleep, or sleepily awakening, bodies covered in dirt and grime from the day before. I could feel sand crusting in my hair. I scratched it out.

I left my jacket by my makeshift bed, and headed towards the jungle to take a leak, taking a few steps in. Just as I unzipped, I heard a voice erupt from behind me, "You're not gonna whip your dick out right here, are you?" I let my head fall back, zipping back up. "'Cause that would be interesting." I turned to face the girl standing behind me, hunched up against a tree. She had bandages covering her neck and her left arm. She took a long drag from a cigarette, blowing smoke in a perfect 'O' from her lips.

"Maybe I will," I told her, the corner of my mouth turning up in a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Go to hell."

"Whoa," I said, putting my hands up. "You should cool off, baby." I stepped towards her, grinning.

"Call me baby again, and I'll kick your ass," she warned, standing up straight.

"Well I guess my ass'll just have to kick you back, baby." She bent down, picked up a rock with her good arm, and threw it at me. I reeled back, startled, as it hit me in the stomach. "Good one, Manning," I said, holding my stomach, laughing. "You know, you should join the football team." She spit at my feet, and stalked away.

What a bitch, I thought.

I ran my hand through my hair and walked back over to the tree. Something caught my eye near the top of the oak; something red, stuck up in the branches. Curiously, I tugged on the branch closest to me, and pulled myself up. I wedged the toe of my sneaker between two limbs, testing my weight, and then extended my upper half through the leaves that were obscuring my vision. Eventually, I reached where I had seen it. I recognized the smooth handle, and the bloated hourglass shape. I gripped the arm, and yanked it free.

--

I jogged along the beach, searching the stretch of sand. I averted my eyes from the assorted pile of rubble that a few kids had started sorting through, and caught sight of Andi, running along the shore.

My eyes continued scanning the beach. Suddenly, I saw her, about fifty yards away. She was bent over at the waist, her feet engulfed in the wet sand. She was washing her clothes, or something, wringing them out and dunking them in the ocean. She was naked, only wearing underwear; she swung her hair to the side, standing up straight.

Damn.

I collected myself and strolled over. "Uh, yo, uh..." Jesus, what was her name? Robin, or Scout, or something. Dammit, which was it? I cleared my throat, and she turned around. I stood up straight and ruffled my hair. God, Chris, get yourself together. I flashed her a half smile. "Thought you might want this."

I held out her guitar.

She froze. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell agape. She took her guitar in her hands, like it wasn't real. "Oh my God," she whispered, running her hands along the sides of it. I felt my mouth settle into a real smile. It felt almost foreign, but she looked so happy, it came naturally.

Pink roses blossomed in her cheeks, and her gray eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. Her mouth still hung open, the words caught in her throat.

I gave her one last look before my hands slipped into my pockets, and I turned around. I walked back towards the edge of the jungle, a spring in my step. The smile remained plastered to my face, my confidence returning as I swung the backpack I had packed last night over my shoulder.

Ladies and gentlemen, Chris Mahoney is back.

I don’t remember much. I remember sitting in the plane, my psychologist chatting on about how well I did in Africa. She was filling in the otherwise awkward silence, so I let her talk. And then there were shouts of alarm and the plane started to go down. I remember screams from everyone, and covering my ears from the noise. I remember hearing loud crashes and bangs, and the plane shuddering and rumbling as it crashed. And then my psychologist had thrown herself over me. I blacked out for a moment, and then came to with the smell of fear, blood and burning flesh filling my nose. My psychologist was completely covering my body, her back and hair alight with flames. I screamed then. I tried desperately to pull off my seatbelt, but ended up kicking the burning body off me and climbed out of it. I couldn’t stop hyperventilating. There was thick, black smoke everywhere, and it filled my eyes and mouth, making my choke, and my eyes blur with tears. I grabbed my backpack and bolted. I couldn’t see much through the tears, but when my eyes cleared, I was standing before a luminous forest. The sounds of the birds, crickets and other animal life sounds reached my ears, sending shivers down my spine. No way am I going in there.
Spinning around, I raced back to the plane, and stopped dead in my tracks. I stared in stunned silence at the wreck. There were people running around, dragging injured people. Something further off exploded, and I sat down, wrapping my arms around my knees, and rocked myself back and forth. Dead. She’s dead. My psychologist is dead. All I could think of was the smell of her burning hair and flesh filling my nose. The image of her lifeless eyes burnt into my mind, and I knew I was going to have nightmares for the rest of my life.
As the afternoon wore on, blankets were passed around, and small fires were made. My backpack became my seat, and my stomach growled. I glared at it until it begged me to feed it. I pulled out two of my muesli bars and let a ghost of a smile spread across my lips. Suddenly some guy was demanding I hand them over. Fear gripped my gut as I tried to argue back, my voice weak and quiet. More yelling, and I zoned out. Eventually everyone began to go to sleep. I ate one of the bars, and gave the other one to the boy that was arguing with me before, placing the bar beside his sleeping head. Going back to my backpack, I lay down and let sleep wash over me.

I sit up quickly, blue eyes wide with terror. Where am I? looking around, everything comes rushing back. Oh my gosh, the plane, the crash! My psychologist is dead. Wait … the only adult that understood me and could protect me from society is … gone. Great.
Sitting up, I hug my knees to my chest and look around. The right side of my face flares in pain as I squint, and touch it. Searing, white hot pain shoots through my face and I suppress a scream. Oh my gosh what is wrong with my face? I jump to my feet and look around. There are still a few people asleep, but most of the survivors of the crash are up and walking around, some stalking through the remains of the plane gingerly. The sun is bright overhead, and I touch my face lightly. Sunburn? I hope it’s a sunburn and not anything serious.
A very attractive guy is walking toward me and I shrink back. He catches my attention and smiles at me. He walks over to me and offers his hand. I grab it tentatively and he pulls me to my feet.
“You do know half your face is red, right?” He asks, holding back a chuckle.
I can feel my defences kick in and I just stare at him, inwardly curling in on myself. “Um, well yeah I kinda guessed,” I shoot back. My accent really stands out now, making me wince.
“Want to go and help look for more food?” He asks, indicating the plane wreck.
I bite my lip. “Um, we’re not going to salvage anything from that,” I try to sound confident, but his presence is starting to make me fidgety. “I could have a look in the jungle and stuff, you know, for bush tucker and fresh water.”
“Bush tucker?” He looks at me before laughing. “You’re Australian, aren’t you? I thought that accent was familiar.”
I can find a blush crawling up my cheeks. “Yeah, um, I moved over when I was … twelve,” I shake my head. “Um, do you want me to,” I point to the jungle, “go in and um … find some stuff?”
The guy pauses. “I could come with you and you can point out the edibles and the poisonous stuff, if that helps,” he offers.
Oh jeez. “Um, yeah sure,” I say brightly, even though the prospect of someone else with me is very frightening. “Only if you … want to of course, um I don’t want to …”
“Nah, nah, it’s cool,” he smiles at me. “Come on, let’s go look for some bush tucker,” he tries to imitate my accent and I find myself blushing.
Oh my gosh, do I really sound like that? I manage a weak chuckle. “And water,” I add quietly.
“Yeah, and water,” he nods.
Where the hell is my smart-arse, snarky self gone? I guess I just woke up, and he caught me off guard. Oh well. I’ll get the food. Just focus on the food, Saph. And the water. And the water, food and water.
“I’m Andi, by the way,” the guy says as we walk over to the jungle.
“Yeah, cool,” I nod. He watches me expectantly, and I realise he wants to know my name. oh jeez, Saph! “Oh, right, um, I’m Saphire, but um … you can call me … Saph?” I sound so unsure of myself. How lovely.
“Saph,” he smiles. “Cool name.”
Yeah, my Mum thinks so too … and I’m never going to see her again. Oh jeez.

Scout

I stood in the water with nothing else to do but try to make use of myself. I undressed and started washing my clothing trying to get any smudges or blood out of the fabric. I knew that these people would see me undressed eventually so why hold off.

"Uh, yo, uh..." He cleared his throat, catching my attention. "Thought you might want this."

He held out my guitar and an instant flood of relief came over me. I had home again. I didn't know what to say I was so overcome with joy. Chris flashed me a quick smile then started to stroll back into the jungle before I had time to collect myself and thank him.

"Hey, Chris!" I called after him jogging up to him still not caring about my clothing. I gave him a long hug finally giving him the thanks he deserved.

We slowly pulled away, I stood up on my toes to give him a quick peck of the cheek then turned to go back to washing my clothes. Man, This guy isn't that bad at all.



I walked over to a rock that I was now using as a seat and my own personal camp. I laid out my shirt to dry and slipped on my slightly damp jeans. I examined my guitar for any scratches or cracks, thank god there was only a couple scratches across the neck and back. I started tuning my guitar and strumming a couple cords filling my chest with vibration

I sang until my throat hurt and my fingers bled. I sang until I knew I couldn't do anything else to stop this hell of a situation. I sang till I accepted I was most likely going to be dead in the next 48 hours.

I sang for survival.

Spoiler

Sorry it's a little short but I'm seriously rain dead right now.

I trace lines in the sand. The plane is outlined in the picture—exploding, wings ripped apart. A few still shapes are sketched beside it, the only ones who don’t have to live in this hellhole. Sand goes on for miles and miles, almost to the end of the horizon, but beyond, I do not know. Perhaps freedom? Death? The sea? It’s all an impossible nebulous I care nothing about.

My clothes have long since been torn to shreds, hanging on me like the outside of a beaten piñata. I adjust my shirt every few minutes so it covers at least the essentials, but almost all else is exposed to the blistering sun. My one consolation is that no one can see my blushing—it’s all hidden behind the raging sunburn across my body. All I want to do is scratch away the peeling skin, the fire that dances across me. And a voice inside whispers it’d only make it worse, but like I listen to that.

My hand shakes to continue drawing in the sand, but now in a circle, going round and round and round and round and—

Someone flops to the sand beside me, sitting with their legs across my drawings of the wreck, covering it up. I stare ahead for a moment longer before looking up, reminding myself to breathe. The stick breaks in my grasp.

“Hey, are you alright?” The voice is deep, but gentle. Not like I care. It could belong to a damn walrus for all I care, but it doesn’t. It’s a boy about my age—the one who’s been down there keeping everything together, bandaging people up and taking control. Oh, and let’s not forget finding guitars for naked girls. His gaze lowers below my neckline and I adjust the remnants of my shirt, turning pink below the sunburn.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I frown at him. “Except you put your ass right where my drawings are.”

“You’re… drawing?” He blinks, his attention now focused on my face. “At a time like this?”

“You got a problem with that?” I clench the remnant of the stick even tighter than before, and scan the nearby sand for any weapons—none. “Keeps me occupied while I wait to wake up from this damn dream.”

“You’re not in a dream.” He smiles, but not like he’s insulting me. I don’t care. My chin trembles in rage, and I feel the boiling point coming closer and closer. I thrust it down for the moment, relying on the words of this boy to perhaps explain how to wake up. He gestures around us, points to the scattered remains of what used to be our jet. The plume of flames from the dead still rises, the stench and ashes of our friends drifting out to the sea. “We’re here now—for real. I think if we were all in a dream, we’d have woken up by now.”

I grab a fistful of sand and hold it close, not ready to throw yet but soon, soon. My hands tremble as I hold it, either from this guy or leftover trauma from the accident.

Blood oozing everywhere, bodies twisted in knots around shrapnel

“No, this is a dream. It has to be.” I follow the line of sand along the beach, the normal enticement of a swim having no effect on me. It’s only death in here. “None of this is real.” I turn to the boy, and poke him with my stick. “And neither are you.”
He stands and wipes the sand off his torn jeans, favoring me with a gorgeous smile. But the sun has given me one of those each day since the crash, and it’s only brought me fiery pain everywhere. I stretch my shoulder and inhale sharply, the agonizing torture flashing up my body.

“You know, if this was all a dream, I don’t think we’d be feeling this awful.” And with that, he turns to leave.

My hand shakes so hard, the sand falls from my grasp. The stick is broken again into little pieces, unattainable and unwanted.

“Hold on one minute?” I scoop another handful of sand and push myself to my feet, ignoring my gaping shirt. Since this is all a dream, let him stare—doesn’t matter, anyway. And he turns with another gorgeous smile, as if he thought I’d be coming with him.

This anger is too much to control, too exhilarating to contain. I fling the sand at his face, the miniscule particles clinging to his mouth and thrown into his eyes. His hands clutch his face, where they scramble to wipe away the sand so he can see. But by that time, I’m on him, scratching and pummeling for all I’m worth, digging my elbows into his gut and kicking whatever I can reach. He grunts in pain, and reaches for me, hesitates as he seems to realize how exposed I am, but then continues with greater force.

In less than a second, I’m thrown across the sand and onto my bare chest, my hands clutching the ripped sleeve of my shirt lying behind me. He stands breathless, takes a step closer, but then turns and walks away without another word.

I trace my finger in the sand. All a dream.

Spoiler

So I'm sorry if I messed anything up. To be honest, I read through the previous posts, but forgot to check the DT before writing my post. And I'm sorry for Chris. ;_; Really, I am. xd If anyone wants to come and convince her again it's all a dream or whatever, go ahead. Do whatever you want to my character~